Many people do not realize who or what they are until they are told so or something big happens in their lives. It was the same in my case. I grew up in a very diverse family. My mom is of white descent and my dad is of black descent. Growing up, I never really looked at what race I was and what race other people were. I kind of had a block on color, which is probably good in some ways and bad in other ways.
             I never thought of myself as biracial until much later on in my life. I just thought I was Michelle and that was that. I was born in Michigan and since my dad was in the military, we moved to Puerto Rico and then to Louisiana.
             Louisiana was when I had my big shock. It was when I got into fourth grade. My teacher's name was Mrs. Fouche. She was a pretty nice teacher overall, but a little nutty. One day in class, before it was lunch, Mrs. Fouche had asked me to see her before lunch started. I started freaking out, 'What did I do? Did I do something wrong?' I was not a terrible child, although I did get into trouble every once in a while, getting a detention or a behavior report.
             After class had ended for lunch I walked up to Mrs. Fouche's desk, very nervous about the fact that she was eyeing everyone to make sure they had all left the room.
             "Michelle," Mrs. Fouche said hesitantly.
             "Yes, Mrs. Fouche?" I asked biting my fingernails.
             "On your emergency card, you left the part that says race empty."
             "I am mixed," I said very confidently, half relieved that I was not in trouble.
             "I am sorry but you are going to have to choose whether you are black or white."
             I started to cry. No one had ever made me choose what I am, and I do not like disregarding one race for the other. I had never realized the importance of who I am until this event in my life happened. It made me think a lot about who I was and where I belonged. My teacher tell...